


Save Tonight

by missbelleblue



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Kissing, Romance, Sex, Smut, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-17 20:12:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9341360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbelleblue/pseuds/missbelleblue
Summary: Held captive by the saviors, Daryl Dixon is ready to give up.  He's lived through hell on earth but now, his best friend dead--thanks to him--and the rest of the group missing, he's slowly being broken by Negan.  And then he meets a woman; someone who he could love.  Someone who could save him.That is, unless he has to die to save her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate Universe, I don't own Norman Reedus (unfortunately) or his portrayal of Daryl Dixon. I also don't own any characters in TWD.
> 
> Comments are welcomed and very much appreciated!

One

Fuck.

Daryl Dixon gingerly rubbed his swollen eye, adjusting his frame on the mattress tick. He had no idea what day it was or how long he’d been shut up in the windowless cell. Shit, it didn’t even matter anymore. He’d gotten Glenn killed. 

He knew what they were trying to do to him. He remembered being worked over by Negan and his cronies; how the man insisted he saw potential in Dixon. How he could not only benefit but thrive by becoming a Savior. Daryl would rather die. He’d fought back as hard as he could and, again, he’d failed.

Fuck. Now he was here. All his options were taken away; even death as an option was taken away. God; hopefully the rest of them were okay. He couldn’t forgive himself if something had happened to the group. They’d become his family; shit, they were his family. They were all he had.

Noise echoed down the hollow, empty corridors outside his cell and, after a moment, he heard the shriek of locks turning. The door opened.

Christ, it was that squirrelly little bastard. Simon. The man ran his fingers down his mustache, grinning stupidly at him. “Wakey, wakey.”

Daryl snarled, clenching his fists and spitting on the concrete floor. This little prick wasn’t worth the effort—or the beating—he’d get if he pummeled him. He was Negan’s puppet. “Fuck you.”

Simon clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “You should be nice to me, red neck. Got something here for you—out of the kindness of Negan’s heart, he’s decided to send you someone to patch you up. I think you should just sit here and bleed, but contrary to what you think, Negan is concerned. Says you’re worth more alive than dead. That’s rare.”

“I don’t want his help. I’d rather sit here and bleed, too.”

Simon reached into the hall and yanked someone into the cell. She was…well, fuck, she was tiny: short and skinny, she was dressed in black army boots, cut off—and short—denim shorts, and a white tank top. A red flannel shirt was tied around her slim waist. She was curvy in the right places and filled out where a woman should be—and when he looked at her face, he sucked in a sharp breath. She was beautiful.

She was also frowning, her pouty lips twisted in a snarl. “Don’t push me around like you own me, you little fucker. You of all people should know better.”

He pulled her to him; Daryl sat up a little straighter on his cot. Simon’s eyes shot in his direction and he jerked her closer. “You mind your own business.”

She shoved him away, quickly taking a few steps closer to Daryl. “You touch me again, I’ll tell Negan. You wouldn’t want him to find out how you constantly take his orders out of context, would you?”

Simon glared at her. He shifted from one foot to the other, then cocked his head towards Daryl. “How much time do you need?”

“Do I look like a mind reader to you, ass hat?” She adjusted a case in her hand; it was the first time Daryl noticed it. It looked like a tackle box; kind of like the one he’d had as a kid. “I’ll be done when I’m done.”

“Twenty minutes.”

“I’ll knock when I’m done.”

Simon huffed into his mustache. “I don’t like that.”

“Well, I don’t like you. We’re even.” She rolled her eyes dramatically. “If you’re concerned with my personal well being, don’t be. I can handle myself.”

Simon huffed again but relented, storming out of the cell and slamming the door behind him. Daryl heard the locks turn back in place.

The woman turned back and looked at him, cocking her head in the way Simon had gone. “The world goes to shit and people like him get positions of power. Can you believe that shit?”

“I don’t want your help.”

“Tough shit, you’re getting it." She sat at the foot of the cot, putting the tackle box between them. “I’ve learned, since I’ve been in Negan’s acquaintance, that it’s always best to listen more and ask questions less. He said to come fix you, so here I am.”

Daryl narrowed his eyes. She was too calm with this, too relaxed. He answered, his voice almost a growl. “I don’t need no fixing.”

“Yes, you do.” She flipped the box open. Inside was a myriad of medical supplies: bandages and tubes of ointment, bottles of pills. A suture kit. Standing, she looked him over. “Don’t look so worried. I’m a nurse.”

He couldn't help but look over her body; at the way her shorts hugged her hips and her tank-top curved around her breasts. “I don’t need a nurse.”

“Well, you’re in luck, because I hadn’t taken my final exams and shit before the world ended. Technically, I’m a still an intern. But, you know, certifications and boards aside, I’m not too bad. I haven’t killed anyone,” she cleared her throat, “that didn’t deserve it. Anyway, I’m Anne.”

He glared at her.

“That’s fine, you can be quiet. Makes my job easier. I know your name, anyway.” She glanced at his shoulder, her face softening. “Can I look at it?”

He shrugged.

Sitting beside him, she gingerly picked at his shirt sleeve. He watched her. His body grew tense, as if he expected her to pounce at any minute and try to slit his throat. How could she be so relaxed? Because she was one of them? 

She cleared her throat. “Can you take this off for me? I’m…ah, a little worried that it’s still bleeding. You might need stitches.”

“I guess.” His voice was still a growl. “Ain’t gonna stop you.”

He reached behind his head with his good arm and peeled the shirt off. Her eyes flicked across his chest and then she looked away, rummaging through the medical kit. She lifted the top tray up and pulled out a bottle of amber colored liquid. Uncorking it, she spilled a little on a cloth and pressed it to his shoulder.

Pain seared through his arm and he jerked backwards; if he hadn’t been in so much pain, he’d have swung at her. “Fuck, that hurts! Why didn’t you warn me, you little bitch?”

She shrugged, mimicking his earlier movement and took a swig from the bottle. “It’d hurt either way, whether you knew or not. Want a drink? It’s bourbon.”

Was it…kindness? Maybe pity? He didn’t fucking care, he hadn’t had alcohol in Christ knew how long. He took the bottle from her and threw it back. God, the burn tasted like heaven.

She scooted closer to him again, gently touching the edges of the wound. He watched her examine him, holding the bottle to his face to try and hide his gaze. Her eyes were green, an almost startlingly beautiful color, and her cheekbones were high and looked like they were sculpted from stone. She nibbled on her bottom lip while she studied the wound and, even though he knew she wasn’t trying, there was something seductive about it.

That was probably Negan’s plan—send a beautiful woman in and try to make him crack. He wasn’t going to fall for that shit. He was stronger than that, no matter what Negan thought.

“Okay…well, look, I’ll be honest with you. I’m worried you have infection starting in there and that’s serious. I’m going to stitch it for you, but I’m going to keep an eye on you for the next few days. You don’t want an infection.” She picked up the suture kit from the box and pulled out a needle. “It’s hard for me treat infections.”

He took another swig from the bottle. “How about you just let me die?”

“I may not have finished nursing school, but I’m pretty sure I remember the section where they advised us against letting patients die. It’s basically day one.” She threaded the curved needle and then looked at him. “I don’t have anesthetic.”

His eyes locked on hers; it was intense. Her gaze was steady and, after a beat, he looked away. “Do what you need to do so you can get out.”

“Take another drink. I have to sanitize the needle and try to wash out your wound more.” She waited while he complied and then took the bottle from him, quickly dipping the needle in. Spilling more liquid on the cloth, she pressed it to his arm. 

He sucked breath between his teeth, again cursing. His adrenaline kicked in after a few moments and, slowly, the bite of pain lessoned.

She moved the medical kit out of the way and slid closer to him, pulling his arm across her lap. Pulling her long, glossy brown hair up into a messy bun, she looked at him. “Are you ready? I’m telling you this time so you aren’t surprised.”

“I’m fine.”

She shrugged, squeezing the edges of the gash together and plunging the needle into his flesh. He snarled at her, grinding his teeth together. “Shit.”

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s nice, but it still hurts.”

She pulled the thread through his skin, carefully pushing the needle into the flesh on the other side of the wound. He watched her work, her tongue poking through her lips as she concentrated on making her sutures neat and even. The pain was awful, yes, but he was captivated by her. She was part of the Saviors…and yet…there was something pure about her. Honest.

It reminded him of Beth.

She looked up and into his eyes; this time, he didn’t look away. Her gaze flicked back down to his arm. “I was there…when it happened. I’m sorry about your friends.”

He didn’t answer.

“The one in charge, Rick, he got away with a few of the others. A woman and…his boy, I think.” She made a few more stitches. “A lot of shit happened after they took you down. You were like a raging bear, Daryl, I thought for sure you’d break more skulls than you did.”

The way she said his name sent chills down his spine. He hadn’t heard anyone say his name since they locked him up.

She tied off the end of the suture and clipped it free. “Anyway. Let me bandage your arm and then I want to check your eye. Then I’ll leave you alone.”

He watched her pull out a white pad and roll of white bandages. Part of him wanted her to stay…she was bait, no doubt. But something about her made him want more. He’d given her every reason to treat him as badly as the other Saviors did, but she was still sweet. Still kind.

It was unsettling.

She pressed the pad over his neatly stitched wound and then started wrapping the bandage around it. When she touched him, her hands were gentle. “Keep it clean. I want you to sleep on your other side or your stomach, if you can. Don’t go trying to bash the door down with this shoulder, because it won’t work. Broken stitches are angry stitches.”

“You trust me to not hang myself with the bandage?” Even though she was gorgeous—even though her closeness made his pulse race—he checked himself. His words were bitter, his lip cocked in a snarl.

She tied the end off and then lifted her gaze to his. “I trust you.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but the words froze in his throat; he shut his lips with an audible plop. She’d looked away by then, neatly capping the bourbon bottle and packing it, along with the bandages, back in her medical kit.

She then pulled out a small bottle and stood from the cot, stepping directly in front of him. “Lean your head back. I want to check your eye.”

He stiffened. That put him at a disadvantage; if she wanted to hurt him—if she was prepping him for someone else to come in an hurt him—this put him in the right position. He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “No.”

“I’m still going to check it, you stubborn ass, now hold still.” She pursed her soft pink lips together and gently brushed his stringy hair out of his face.

He stayed on guard, his hands at the ready to grab hers and slam her up against the wall. He could grab the scissors from her kit, hold them at her throat until they let him out. If it came to that, of course, because they were no doubt outside waiting at the door….

…but nothing happened. She again brushed his hair back, her eyes narrowing as she squinted as his puffy, swollen eye. His breath caught in his throat—fuck, why did she have this effect on him?

“I’m not even going to ask if you can see.” Her eyes were framed with long, dark eyelashes, making the greenish blue hue of her eyes even more startling. “But, can you open it? At all?”

“Haven’t tried.”

“That’s okay, don’t. The swelling should go down soon.” She pressed the pads of her fingers against his temple and then his cheekbone. “Does this hurt?”

“Sore.”

“I just want to be sure the bones aren’t broken, but I think you’re okay.” She studied him again, leaning forward to get a better look at his face. Reaching down, she rested her hand on his shoulder to steady herself. “I don’t see any blood or pus or anything. But let me know when you can open it and if you have trouble seeing.” She pulled her hand away from him.

His heart sank a little; the physicality of her touch was casual; she hadn’t meant anything by it. Still, he craved it—the humanness of it. “This isn’t my first black eye.”

“Good, then you know what to do.” She handed him the bottle. “Eye drops. Don’t force it open but if it opens on its own, two drops every hour. Got it?”

He nodded.

“I’ll be back to check your arm tomorrow, but if you have any pain or shortness of breath, you send someone for me. Okay?” She picked up her medical case and studied him, her eyes scanning his features. “Other than the eye and the arm, are you good?”

“I’m hungry.” He crossed his arms again. “They haven’t fed me shit since I got here because they think they’re breaking me.”

She looked away, her voice suddenly soft. “Negan thinks he can break everyone.”

And with that, she walked back to the door and pounded on it. Within seconds, Simon opened it, glanced in, and yanked her back into the hallway.

Daryl didn’t mind being alone. But there was something about her, something about not knowing what was happening to her outside the cell walls, that left him unsettled.


	2. Chapter 2

Day bled into night and he managed to sleep a little, though his dreams were filled with Glenn’s face as he died. If only Daryl had been stronger; if only he’d trusted his gut instinct instead of falling for the lies. Fuck; if only things were different. It shouldn’t have led to this.

All semblance of time was long lost. When his body told him to be asleep, he slept. When it was time to be awake and stare at the wall, he sat up on the cot and thought. Angry thoughts; thoughts that stabbed him to his very core—

—and thoughts of her.

His stomach rumbled, pulling him out of his daydream of those full lips and tight little body. Christ; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. Useless Eugene brought him water, on occasion, and sometimes a crust or two of bread. It was just enough to keep him alive. He could feel himself getting weaker; it was harder and harder to force himself upright; to walk around the cell and do pushups or sit ups. He knew he had to keep his blood flowing. He had to stay strong. If opportunity showed, he might only have one chance.

And that chance was shit if he was bitch-ass weak.

As it had before, he heard the rumble of doors opening long before his cell door was unlocked. Simon. This little prick crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Not dead yet, I see.”

“One bullet is all it takes.” Daryl licked his lips, crooking his finger towards him. “Come on. Do it.”

Simon raised his hands up and snorted, choking back laughter. “You aren’t worth my time. Come on, lets get this over with. I’ve got shit to do.”

The cell door opened wider and Anne walked in, medical kit in hand. She was dressed the same as the previous day, only this time, she was wearing the flannel shirt and her hair was braided in two, side french braids. Her face and shoulders wet; she shook off in Simon’s direction. “You can go now.”

Simon mumbled something under his breath but complied, slamming the door behind him. Anne rolled her eyes dramatically and then smiled at him.

Daryl could feel his mouth gaping open. “You came back.”

“I said I would.” She sat on the edge of the bed, plopping the medical kit beside her. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.”

“Your eye looks better.” She leaned over towards him, gently brushing his hair to the side. “Can you open it?”

His breath was caught in his throat; he grunted in response. Was this how Negan wanted to break him? To make him have feelings for this beautiful woman? Why were the sweet ones—the honest ones—who gave and gave and loved the ones who were manipulated? Used? Beth saw beauty in everything; she was a light in a sea of darkness. And now she was dead.

He wasn’t going to put himself through that again.

“That’s okay, maybe another day.” Anne straightened and reached for the medical kit, flipping the lid open. She pulled back the top tray and, where the bourbon bottle had been, pulled out a shiny red apple. “This is for you.”

Daryl stared at it. “What?”

“It’s an apple. You eat it?” She cocked her eyebrow upwards. “Look, you said you were hungry. Apples are widely recognized as being a healthy food item, full of vitamins and minerals and nutrients and all that crap that your body needs. Your arm will heal faster if you’re healthy.”

Uncertainly, he took the apple from her. He mumbled a tight, “Thank you,” and set it beside him.

“Which brings me to your arm.” She grinned at him. “See how I did that? Let me check my handiwork. Come on; before Simon Piss Pants starts demanding I hurry up.”

With some hesitation, he held his arm out to her. Her touch was soft and slow, carefully unwrapping the bandages from his upper arm and shoulder. The flesh was still tender; he winced.

“Before this all happened, I almost failed out of nursing school. I’m piss poor at putting in IVs; the poor sap I had to practice on was one miserable son of a bitch when I was done with him. I think I tried thirteen times to get the line in? Fourteen? Anyway, the professor screamed at me and I cried, so my step-dad went to the university and screamed at the professor until he’d give me another chance. This time, it only took me four tries.” She pulled the pad back; her brow furrowed. “Shit.”

“What?”

“Nothing, there’s just more pus than I’d like to see.” She rummaged through the medical kit and pulled out a vial and syringe. “And, fun fact, I didn’t want to see any pus.”

He swallowed hard. “So, it’s infected?”

“A little.”

“It was a yes or no question.”

“Okay. My answer is still a little.” She plunged the syringe into the bottle, readying the needle. “Are you allergic to penicillin?”

“You’re not putting that in my arm.”

“Contrary to popular belief, Daryl Dixon, you aren’t the boss of me.” She held out her hand. “Give me your arm.”

“No.”

“Look, we can do this the easy way where you give me your arm, or I’ll get another needle out and sedate you first. Then you can’t stop me from doing anything I want.” She nibbled on her bottom lip, her eyes obviously taking in his broad shoulders and narrow waist. “Daryl. I’m asking nicely.”

He spoke before his brain had time to stop him; for the first time since she’d initially walked in, his tone was soft. “Say it again.”

“What?”

“My name.”

She scooted closer to him, resting her fingertips on his forearm. “Daryl. You can trust me. I’m not going to hurt you; I’m here to help you. I’m not like them.”

“I’m not a good guy, Annie.” He caught himself and bristled, trying to push the emotion back. “Anne. So, you can go and take your sweetness and angel of mercy attitude to someone else.”

She smirked, grabbing onto his arm beneath the elbow and injecting the needle into his bicep. It seared through his arm, the thick liquid quickly spreading through the muscle. Her eyes were locked on his; she slowly sucked a breath in through her pouty lips. “That’s okay. I’m not a good girl either. But, since nursing school didn’t teach us to differentiate between the ‘good’ guys and the ‘bad’ guys, I’m still going to take care of you. Whether you like or not.” 

Daryl released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He wanted to pull that lip into his mouth and nibble on it; to feel her breath against his skin. Fuck; the intoxication of her eyes was too much. She made him weak.

She pulled the needle out of his arm and critically inspected the injection site. Looking back at him, she wetted her lips. “You want a bandaid?”

“No.”

She kept her eyes on him for a few more moments and then looked away, replacing the needle in the kit. Pulling out a new pad and bandage, she started rewrapping his arm. “I’ll be back in around six hours to give you another dose. I might try to stretch it out to eight hours; I don’t have a hell of a lot of penicillin left and trying to validate an extra supply run to Simon is like trying to explain algebra to him. Pointless. You need anything?”

“There’s a lot I need.”

“Don’t we all?” She tied off the edge of his bandage and then leaned towards him, brushing his hair back from his face. Her fingers lingered on his cheek for a moment; she quickly pulled away. “I’m happy your eye looks better, though. We need frozen peas.”

He raised his eyebrows. 

“That was my mom’s solution for every bump and scratch and headache and black eye. Get the peas. I’m short and awkward. I used to climb up on the kitchen counter to reach the upper cabinet shelves and, when I’d fall, there she was with a bag of frozen peas.” Her eyes clouded up and she looked down, grinding the toe of her boot into the ground. “Every time.”

“Kids can be clumsy.” His arms ached to reach out to her, to tilt her face up and look into her sparkling eyes. No; he was too strong to fall for that. Not again.

“So can fourteen year olds.” She wiped her palm across her cheeks. “Sorry. Anyway, I’ll be back later on, when I can. I have work and shit to do today. It’s raining: that means wash day.”

As she gathered up her medical kit and walked to the door, Daryl shifted forward. He had to ask. “Annie.”

She turned back. “Yeah?”

“Promise?”

Her lips spread into a smile and she cocked her head towards him. “Always.”

****

A rumble above was constant throughout the day. He couldn’t be sure what it was—maybe gunfire, maybe thunder—and he wondered if he was underground or just in a well fortified building. Someone had put a lot of care into making it secure. His mind flashed back to their time in the prison; back when everything seemed to be going right. It wasn’t perfect, but it was as close as they’d gotten to it. Beth…Beth would sing and coo to Lil Ass-Kicker. She’d have made a good mom.

She was the closest thing he’d ever felt to love. And when he lost her, he decided he didn’t need it. He’d been with more women than he could remember. He’d never actually been physical with Beth, but still, he felt she’d been more intimate with him than anyone in his life. Where had love gotten Rick? Or Glenn? Maggie was alone. Judith would grow up without a momma.

He sighed into the apple, taking another bite of the crisp fruit. Juice trickled down his chin and dripped onto his chest. It was sweet and tart at the same time; it made everything sticky. He didn’t care. He hadn’t had an apple this good in months. Maybe a year or more.

From down the hallway, he heard the rumble of doors opening. He perked up; maybe it was Anne. But his stomach rumbled inside him—no, probably not her. It was probably Eugene slinking in like a dog with his tail between his legs: dirty water and food I pissed on. Enjoy.

The cell door locks squealed and it swung open.

Anne burst inside. 

He almost dropped his apple. Wiping his sleeve across his face, he watched her shake off water, pulling her flannel shirt down from her head. She was carrying something wrapped in an old black trash bag under one arm and, slung around her shoulders, was a canvas bag.

“Jesus, it’s like a monsoon out there. Negan’s got Simon outside trying to collect the rain in barrels; my god, it’s the funniest thing I’ve seen in ages. He looks like a damned drowned rat—well, more than usual.” She smiled at him, brushing wet strands of loose hair back from her face. “Sorry. Hi. How’s your arm?”

“Fine. The apple…” He motioned at her with it; fuck, she left him so speechless he didn’t know how to talk. “It’s good. Thank you.”

“I’ve got another for you. But first,” she set the trash bag on his cot, “I brought you this. And no, it’s not a bag of garbage.”

Daryl clamped the apple between his teeth and reached into the bag. Inside was a thick, navy blue wool blanket. He looked up at her.

“It smells a little bad, but it felt like the warmest.” She pulled her canvas bag forward and pulled open the flap. “Apple, a can of raisins—those were a Christmas present from Joy, my bunk mate who obviously doesn’t care I hate raisins, so I expect you to be merry while you eat them—and I’m ninety-nine percent sure that’s egg salad. Some of the girls made it for lunch.”

He removed the apple from his mouth and set it on the cot beside him. The sandwich was a little squished, but it was more than he’d had since they threw him in the cell. He looked up at her. “Why?”

“Well, I ate half of it and it was okay. I’m not one to like, want to cross a desert for egg salad and I thought you’d need it more than me. I kept it cold, so don’t worry about salmonella or something. We don’t have mayonnaise, though, so it’s avocado. Healthy fats are good fats. And that explains the green.”

“You talk a lot.”

“Well, one of us has to. You’re too damn quiet.”

He glanced back down at the food and blanket. “No, I mean why are you doing this?”

“Because I have to give you another shot.” She reached into the bag and pulled out a syringe and vial. “And because I don’t think you deserve what Negan is doing to you. I’m a rebellious little bitch—just ask him. I like to think I’m a revolutionary.”

She scooted closer to him, her thigh touching his. He sucked in a deep breath, leaning over her as she filled the syringe. “How did you get in? To the cell, I mean, if Simon’s outside being a little water bitch.”

“I made Eugene bring me down.” She looked up at him, her lips spread into a coy smile. “He had to do his ration rounds, I had medical rounds. I had four Snickers bars left in my stash; I gave him three to let me down here without a fight.”

“What are ya saving the last one for? Next time you need to bribe him?”

She shook her head and pulled his arm to her; his fingertips brushed against her thigh as she held him in place. Either she didn’t care…or she’d mean to do it. “Nope. I brought it for us to share.”

Her skin was so soft where he’d touched her. He wanted to put his hands back on her skin, to pull those thighs open and wrap her legs around his waist. Fuck; the thought of her pushed against the wall, of his hips grinding against hers…he felt himself getting hard at the thought. His mouth watered.

She jabbed the needle into his arm; the pain jolted him back to the present. Once the injection was over, she put the syringe and vial back into her bag, then pulled out a Snickers bar and pad of paper. She tossed him the candy bar. “Take as much as you want, just save me some. I mean it, Daryl Dixon, I will fight you. Snickers are my favorite.”

He peeled the wrapper back. It was a little stale, but the chocolate still smelled like heaven. Breaking the bar in half, he watched her make notes on the pad. “What’cha doing?”

“Writing down the times I gave you a dose.” She counted on her fingers and then made another mark. “I think that should last you through the night. I’ll check it again in the morning and that’ll be…well, that’ll be ten hours but it is what it is. That’ll give it time to kick in.”

He handed her her half of the candy bar.

Her eyes lit up and she smiled at him. It was a genuine smile; there was no hesitation, no looking him over and deciding if he was worth it. “You could have more.”

“I have to be nice to my angel of mercy.” He smiled back and, before he knew exactly what he was doing, reached over, tucking a wet strand of hair behind her ear. “I mean, you said you’d fight me.”

“You say it like you don’t think I could take you on.” She broke a piece of Snickers off and popped it in her mouth. “I’m coiled steel, Daryl. I’m scrappy and tough and no nonsense.”

“You’re what, five three?”

“Five five, thank you very much.” She elbowed him gently. “I’m speedy and low to the ground. Plus I’m faster than you, so that’s what matters. Right?”

He elbowed her back. “Bullshit. I’ve got a motorcycle; I’ll leave you in the dust.”

“That’s a bit loud, don’t you think?” She giggled, raising her eyebrows quizzically. “I mean, unless you actually want, like, a conga line of zombies following you across the countryside.”

“I’m a bad ass.” He took a bite of the candy bar, savoring the sweet, sugary taste. “And I’m a good shot.”

“I don’t doubt that.” She opened her mouth to say something else, but before she could, someone pounded on the cell door.

The voice was muffled, but it was clearly Eugene. “Anne? Anne, you need to come out now. Negan’s on his way down—he’s actually right—“

The cell door swung open and Negan strutted in, Lucille perched on his shoulder. Anne shifted on the bed, using her body to block the food she’d brought. Daryl slid the blanket over them.

“Getting cozy with him, aren’t you Anelyse?” He was smiling at her, but when he turned to look at Daryl, his eyes filled with rage. “Simon told me you were in here earlier.”

“What do you expect me to do, hang down from the ceiling so I can give him an injection?” She stood up, sliding her body in front of him; effective putting herself between him and Daryl. “I asked Simon to get me more penicillin and he declined, so, here I am using a weaker dosage to treat a shitty infection. You know I can amputate his arm, but really. Negan. What use would he be to you then?”

He reached around her, touching the side of Daryl’s head with Lucille. “Are you asking for trouble, boy?”

“Don’t.” Anne rested her hand on his forearm, gently pushing him back. “If you want me to ‘fix’ him, as you said—you said it, Negan, not me—then you have to let me take care of him. His arm isn’t going to magically heal itself.”

“And the blanket, Anelyse?”

“Well, sure, keeping him cold so he gets pneumonia will fix his infection. Because he’ll be dead.”

Negan sighed, flexing his neck from one shoulder to the other. With this free hand, he reached up; he trailed his fingertip down her lips and throat to her collar bones. “You sure are lucky I loved your momma.”

Daryl clenched his fists, grinding his teeth together so hard he tasted blood. That fucking bastard needed to get his hands off her—he was ready to yank the bat out of his hand and jam it down the prick’s throat.

But Anne smiled sweetly, ducking under his arm and pulling him after her. “Get me more penicillin, Negan. I don’t think I should have to ask Simon a second time.”

“You won’t, baby doll. You won’t.” Negan pushed past Eugene—still cowering at the door—and into the hallway. “Come back to the house. Daddy needs his shoulders rubbed.”

Daryl had his eyes fixed on her; the way she hung back as the two men walked out ahead of her. He could see the sadness in her eyes. It took every fiber of his being to stay seated and not pull her back to him—he knew if he did, he’d put her in more danger…and no doubt get himself killed.

Just before she walked out the door, she turned back to him. “Bye Daryl.”

“Bye, Annie.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments!! They mean a lot to me--I'm glad you enjoy the story! :)

When she didn’t come to him in the morning, he started to get worried. When she wasn’t there at the time his body was starting to crave lunch; he bottled his feelings inside and tried to forget her. It was just like he’d assumed: Negan had used her to toy with him. Just when he was starting to relax, to give in to this big green eyes, the bastard snatched her away. For all he knew, she was dead.

He kept himself busy with sit-ups and one handed pushups. He could do far more regular pushups, but the pain in his arm left him hesitant. One handed would have to do.

He was sucking wind by the time he finished his routine, he heard the rumble of doors opening. Plopping back down on his cot, he waited. Who would it be this time? Simon? Maybe Negan again, just to punctuate his victory with Lucille a little bit more.

The cell door opened.

It was Annie.

His jaw went slack. She’d come back? After all that? “You’re…here.”

She raised an eyebrow and looked back at the door; closing it quickly. “Um, well, yeah. Unless someone else got their RN degree while I was gone. Eugene says he’s got some kind of medical background, but please. He probably thinks the circulatory system is something you plug an iPod into.”

“I just thought…uh…after yesterday….”

She set her medical kit on the cot. “Your eye looks hella better. I get two beautiful baby blues now?” Cradling his cheek with one hand, she tilted his head back and studied his eye. “Can you see okay?”

“I see you.”

“Are you using your drops?”

He didn’t respond.

She wrinkled up her nose. “Daryl. You promised.”

“I didn’t think you were coming back?”

“Why?” She trailed her fingertips down his cheek and then touched the tip of his nose with her index finger. “Oh, because of Negan’s shit? Please. Now, where did you put the drops?”

“You’re touchin’ my nose.”

“Good, your vision is better than you thought. Where are the drops?”

He leaned over and retrieved the bottle from under his pillow. Anne again tilted his head back, gently pulling up on his forehead to force his eye open. “Look at me…and…don’t blink….there.”

The drop clouded his vision and burned a little; he blinked the pain away. He watched her open up the medical kit and started pulling out bandages. “Are…uh…are you okay?”

She hesitated, sitting down on the cot and scooting next to him. He could smell the soap on her skin, a light scent of vanilla that was more intoxicating to his senses than heroin. Her eyes stayed on his arm, apparently trying to focus on unknotting the bandages. “No worse than usual.”

“It’s just—“ He shut his mouth abruptly. It wasn’t actually any of his business; she was a nurse. He was the patient. In some other time and place, that would have been mind-numbingly erotic; here, it was just a job. She was taking care of him—she’d said so herself.

“Oh. Uh, Negan.” She shifted on the cot, edging closer to his body as she unwrapped the bandage. “Daryl, look. Before everything went to shit, I moved out of my house when I was sixteen. My mom was dead, my step-dad was an asshole. I moved in with friends and, eventually, I hooked up with this guy and got engaged. When it happened…ah…when the city fell, I was in class. I’d missed the bus to our clinicals, so I wasn’t at the hospital. I ended up hot wiring a car and driving back to my fiance. But…he’d left. He went without me.”

Daryl’s hands ached to touch her; to push the hair out of her face like she did with him, to trail his fingertip across her pouty bottom lip. He wanted to feel her eyelashes against his skin…to know her sweet smile was for him.

But he remained still.

She pulled the old bandages off of his arm, sliding it across her body to get a better look at the wound. “The fact that he didn’t even try to find me or save me? Fuck, I was ready to just sit and wait for some walker to get into the house and rip me apart. But my step-dad shows up. Tells me he’s still got this little houseboat and he thinks it’ll be safe there. He says he’ll keep me safe, because I’ve always been a good little girl and he loved my momma. So I go with him. And…sure as shit, he does. Negan has never once hurt me.”

Her eyes met his and he knew—knew—she’d done things she regretted. But in those beautiful eyes, he saw honesty. He didn’t have to, but he believed her.

“I’m not afraid of him because if there’s anything he is, it’s a man who keeps his word. If he says, he’ll fuck someone up over a dollar? He’ll break their knees and take two. That’s why I didn’t get kicked out of nursing school—that’s why I’m still alive.” She trailed her fingers over his arm, pulling on his forearm until it touched her hip. “But I never, ever, will stand for what he believes. And the minute he tries to hurt me or someone I love? I’ll kill him myself.”

Daryl believed that, too.

She dropped her hand down and cupped it over his, gently squeezing. “Enough sob stories. How’s your arm?”

“The same.” After what she’d just said, he wasn’t sure how to respond to her. “Hurts.”

“Well, you’re still all gross and oozy. Simon is supposed to get off his lazy ass and get someone to go out and fetch me some more damn penicillin. Until then, though, I’m going to give you a bigger dose now to see if that will ramp up clearing out this infection. I’m going to try this antibiotic ointment out, too. It’s a little…well, it’s a lot expired, but hey, better than nothing, right?”

“I trust you.”

She looked up at him, her eyes wide. It startled him too—just for saying it; he barely knew her. But…he desperately wanted to know her more. To know what she liked and didn’t like, to hear that laughter and feel her body against his. There was something about her, something that consumed him. He wasn’t promised another sunrise. But he knew, that no matter how many were left, he wanted to share them with her.

He’d been so consumed with his thoughts that she’d looked away; the moment had passed. Spreading ointment on her fingertip, she scooted so close to him that his shoulder rested on her chest, his arm across her body and hand flat on the mattress. She was tucked against him, gently dabbing her finger against the wound. “Tell me if it hurts.”

He struggled to speak. “It’s fine.”

“I…um…I haven’t told anywhere here that Negan is my step-dad.”

“I ain’t gonna tell. I’ll protect you, uh, your secret.”

“I was a stripper, too.” She tipped her head forward, leaning it against his shoulder. “That’s the other secret; shit, I feel better. Nursing school is damn expensive. Wait. Don’t look at me like that.”

He felt the edges of his lips curl up into a smile. “Like what?”

“Like…like you’re thinking, omg, she was a stripper.” She leaned back against the wall and covered her face with her hands. “I can’t believe I just told you that.”

“Maybe you trust me, too.” His smile disappeared as soon as he said it. Shit, of all the things to say, he’d picked that?

But she touched his arm again. “I do. Trust you, I mean. Maybe more than anyone else here.”

Sitting up, she reached for the roll of bandages on the medical kit. In her haste, her hand knocked into it and sent it rolling off the cot. They reached for it at the same time: Daryl dropped to his knees to grab the rolled portion, trying to gather up the length. She reached for it at the same time. “Sorry, I’ll just cut the dirty part off—“

She tilted her head up just as he was leaning towards her to grab the rest of the bandages. They both froze; Daryl sucked in a sharp breath between his teeth. He could feel her exhale against his lips, feel the warmth of her skin.

She blushed. “I’m clumsy.”

He managed to smile; at that moment, he leaned closer to her and very softly, pressed his lips to hers. It was brief, gentle; they separated with a sensual smack and he looked at her, trying to figure out how she felt.

Her lips curled up into a coy smile. She didn’t have to answer him; that was enough. He touched his fingertips to her cheek and tilted her head towards him. The kiss deepened almost as soon as their lips touched. He lapped his tongue against her bottom lip until she opened her mouth to him. He desperately tried to hold himself back, to focus on the soft caress of her tongue against his, of his meticulous exploration of her mouth.

And, just as he gathered the courage to pull her body to his, he heard the sound of doors opening deep within the building.

She pulled away, abruptly ending the kiss. “I’m sorry, I have to go. But, I’ll be back later—as soon as I get more penicillin.”

She gave him the injection and wrapped his arm in silence. Just as she neared the end of the bandage, someone pounded on the door as they opened it.

Simon. “You have four minutes to get back to the house for dinner duty. Not five minutes. Not three minutes. Four. You want those other girls to get beat because you were late, Princess?”

“You have my penicillin, Simple Simon?” She slammed her medical kit closed, swinging it towards him and pulling it back before it hit. “Do you really want me to remind Negan again? What do you think he’ll say this time? Oh, no, wait. Maybe he’ll let Lucille answer you?”

“If you weren’t his pet, I’d call you a bitch.”

“If you weren’t his bitch, I’d beat the shit out of you.”

Simon jerked his thumb towards the door. “Get your ass moving, Anne.”

“So many threats, Jesus, who died and made you king?” She waved him out the door in front of her and, as she went to follow him, she looked back at Daryl and winked.

Fuck. She took his breath away.


End file.
